Take Five
by coffeeplease
Summary: Post Ep for Drought Conditions. JD, a little TD (and I do mean little). Thank you for all your feedback, it only makes me better.


There was a little bruise on his wrist. His upper back stung a bit. He twisted something, some muscle near his hips. He was getting twinges as he walked, trying to keep up with Santos, trying to make sure Santos was near Bartlet for the shutterbugs and the partygoers to see. Tried to look on Ronna and the rest, the Santos people, as his people. A new team for him not to be just a player, but the coach.

The bonds would form with time. And they may not be the same as the relationships he had before, but there wasn't any reason to believe they wouldn't be as strong. Josh really wanted to believe the old bonds were still there. He needed them.

But C.J. was standing near the President, not meeting Josh's eyes. Leo was waltzing around, schmoozing. Will and Kate looked... well, they weren't exactly looking at each other, but they weren't not looking at each other, either. Josh didn't quite know what to make of it. He hadn't seen Donna. He hadn't seen Toby. And Sam Seaborn might as well not have existed.

Old friends, he guessed. He didn't feel like a friend to the Bartlet administration. He felt like a leper begging for scraps. Late night bull sessions and thousands of beers shared and it hadn't even bought him into the building today. And now, with his bruises and aches and pains... he hadn't hurt this much physically in five or so years. Since he had gotten shot.

He hadn't felt this alone in years.

Well on the way to drunk, passed tipsy an hour ago. The white lights from the reception were moving in and out. He felt a bit nauseous looking at them. He still had David's glasses on; when he took them off, the lights seemed a bit more palatable. Just a bit.

Rafferty had left the bar and his brother David was still dead. Josh Lyman was out in the reception either flogging a dead horse or engaging in one of the most masturbatory acts of American politics. Toby couldn't decide which phrase worked better. But that didn't matter so much.

Toby wondered if he should start smoking cigarettes. Maybe it would make it better. He wished he had something to do with hands other then hold a drink up to his lips. The Dave Brubeck made him think of New York; rainy nights stuck in a cab on Houston Street, brisk walks with his sisters through Prospect Park...

Now New York was sitting in a funeral home for hours, his thoughts alternating between horror and... healthcare plans. Dave Brubeck was good. And he wasn't even dead yet.

The dress itched. She had bought it on sale. Under her arms, around the straps... it was a lace material. The skin was probably turning red. Donna wondered if she actually looked good in this dress or like a off-gray milkmaid. She was going for a Bronte heroine look. It seemed entirely appropriate for the day.

It seemed like the wrong man in her life had been nicknamed "Heathcliff." But Donna didn't feel like petulant Cathy. She didn't feel like the old woman in the attic, either. So maybe she was going for a Jane Austin look instead.

When Margaret told her about the fight, her first reaction was to find Josh and tug on his ear like she used to. Of all people, in all places... and over Rafferty? She knew it wasn't really over Rafferty, of course. It was over dead siblings, lost people, betrayal, abandonment... emotions she knew well. They stumbled over Josh's face every time he looked at her. She didn't see Josh for the rest of the day, didn't look for him.

She should have kissed Josh in the closet. Just to see. Keep him on his toes. Erase some of the dead siblings, lost people, betrayal and abandonment. But there was politics to talk about, a different kind of flame to ignite. Had she lit the fuse that had caused the fire? Should she not have told him?

Politics always got in the way of her kisses.

Donna sat down next to Toby at the bar.

"They played this song at my sister's wedding."

Toby looked up from the bar. "I didn't know your sister was married. No... no, I didn't even know that you had a sister."

She gave him a slight smile. "I have a sister."

"When did she get married?"

"Oh, a long time ago. Before the first campaign."

"Ah," Toby ran his finger around the rim of his glass. "And what does she think of all of," he waved his hand in the air, "this."

Donna fiddled with the coaster. "She thinks I should be in a profession where people aren't shot, kidnapped or car-bombed."

Toby grimaced.

"But she lives in Font Du Lac with three kids, two mortgages and now has an ex-husband, so I don't think I'll be following her advice."

"So the "Take Five" didn't... take?" Toby cocked his head and smiled slightly at Donna, trying to meet her eyes.

Donna gave him her most sparkling closed-mouth smile.

The bartender came up to Donna. Before he could even ask the question, Toby found himself saying, "She'll have what I'm having."

The bartender crept away to fill the order. Toby looked over at his drinking companion. Nineteenth century heroine, for sure, but Donna's eyes were larger. Maybe it was the mascara. Toby found himself looking away. Jesus, she's a beautiful woman, he thought to himself.

"Her ex-husband hit on me once. They were still married at the time. And even though I turned him down, she still got mad at me. I think sometimes that she's still a little... angry."

The bartender put the drink down in front of Donna. The two sat for a few moments, sipping their drinks.

"She should get over it," Toby finally said.

"There are a lot of things that she can't get over," Donna traced the imprint her lipstick had made on her glass. "But I don't want to talk about my sister anymore. Aren't I being kind of rude to you?"

"No more rude then other people have been today."

"Toby..."

"You know, when you sat down, I thought... and I thought this purely on instinct and, you know, the past seven years... but I thought "Here comes Josh's emissary." And that was an incredibly rude thing of me to think, don't you agree?"

Donna pulled her drink up to her lips and poured a bit down. "I'm definitely not Josh Lyman's emissary."

"No, you're not his emissary, you're his ex-wife," Toby looked over Donna's shoulder. The lights were moving faster now. "And because you're his ex-wife, that means you should definitely be on my side."

"I'm not his ex-wife and I'm on nobody's side."

"Oh come on, Donna!" He lightly slapped the bar for emphasis. "You picked up his suits from the dry cleaners, held his head over the toilet while he puked and never had sex. That's marriage." He tempered his comments with a smile.

Donna smiled back. The drink was almost taking care of the itches. "If we were married, how come I'm not getting alimony?"

"I'll look it to that, I'll call a lawyer."

"Toby..."

Hers were eyes like diamonds. The thought had never occurred to him before. She would be the cruelest revenge. A thrown binder did nothing but cause cuts and bruises. If he touched his lips to hers, he would rip Josh Lyman's heart out of his chest and throw it to the floor.

It was all too horrible to contemplate.

And she would definitely turn him down. With her ex-husband and his conquistador candidate bouncing around the room next door like speed junkies. Josh Lyman, political wunderkind, despoiler of 19th century maidens whose sisters never forgave them.

"Donna, you know that there would have never been a Santos campaign without you?"

"I'm not following you."

"Josh wouldn't have left the White House if you were there. You leaving... he left because you left."

Donna looked unbelievably sad. She drained the rest of her glass and scratched at her shoulder. Itch, itch, itch. She wanted to rub until it was sore. "We'll never know, now, will we?"

"No, I know." Toby's voice became a horse whisper. He almost thought he was going to start crying again. Not over Donna, not over Josh, not even over David but over something far beyond tangible. "He loves you, Donna."

"Stop it, Toby." Donna's voice sounded harsh over the soft jazz music.

But Toby could no longer keep this one secret. He had much bigger secrets to keep now. "He loves you," Toby's voice scratched and burned. "He loves you more... then I think he loves politics, but I doubt he realizes that. I've known that he's loved you for most of this administration and he'll love you through the next one and the next one..."

"Stop it," Donna whispered.

"You can't stop it, Donna. You can leave the White House, you can leave him, you can pretend to him and to me and the world that you don't feel the same way. You can move to Thailand... won't stop anything. He'll never stop, Donna."

The bartender put down two fresh drinks in front of them without even asking. Donna's fingers came to her bottom lip, rubbing the lipstick. Toby looked down at the floor, which was moving, it seemed.

"He loves you, too, Toby," Donna sipped her drink. She saw dead siblings, lost people, betrayal and abandonment in the ice cubes. Everything around her was cold and itchy. "He loves you like a..."

"You can finish the sentence."

Tears were shimmering in her eyes when Toby finally raised his head to hers. Her voice choked as she rasped out. "I guess you lost two brothers."

"Did I... did I lose him?" Everything seemed fragile now. Suspended in midair. What Toby wouldn't give for them to play Dave Brubeck again.

"No. I'm wrong. You can never lose Josh Lyman." Donna made everything float; air, alcohol, social security and Josh Lyman. The one drunk moment when Toby wondered what it would be to kiss her... would remain another secret. Some things Toby couldn't do to his brother. "He never stops," Donna finished, whispering. She downed the rest of her drink.

"I better go back to the party."

"Call your sister," Toby looked at her, fiddling with the glasses.

"I will." Donna stood up, leaned over, and kissed the cut on Toby's upper cheek. Her lips stayed a few seconds longer then either would have thought. But it was friendly, the lights were no longer throbbing.

Donna turned and walked away.

It took a few minutes for Toby to throw up.

Up and down the various stairs. Her heels were now, officially, hurting. But she had to find what she was looking for. The hotel was a maze, the secret service were everywhere looking at her with suspicion, but she would find what she was looking for. She would see it, claim it and then fortify her courage.

Jane Austin, eat your heart out.

Donna walked back to the main reception. She stopped for a moment when she saw C.J. looking at her. Daring her, perhaps. Maybe a bit of admonishment. But C.J. quickly turned back to Leo and the back of someone's head who looked familiar...

Of course she had refused her sister's husband. That would have been wrong. Worse then sleeping with your boss, worse then sleeping with the enemy, worse then Jack Reece and the incredibly short life span of his erections. Donna knew the difference between right and wrong, between good and bad. She couldn't tell which was which between Toby and Josh, but that was not her fight. Nobody's emissary.

Josh was looking at her before she even entered the room. In his mind, he was always looking, even if it was at the photograph album he kept in his head. Blue dresses and snowballs, the short gray skirt, her face reading a dusty old book. The physical manifestation was always better. Especially because she was headed right for him.

She refused to go to his side. That was what the ex-wife did. Instead, she put herself right in front of him, not one foot away. His hand was on the stem of his drink and they didn't bother even saying hello to each other.

"Are you busy at the moment?" Donna asked him.

"No, no... they're going to be giving their speeches soon... do you want to talk about something?"

Donna bit her lower lip. Josh's knees almost gave out at the sight of it. "Yes, but we should go somewhere private."

Suddenly, Josh's face took on a contort of pain. "Please don't yell at me about Toby," he whispered.

She touched his arm. "I'm not going to," she whispered back.

Like she was leading a wayward assistant away from a bad actor at a fundraiser, Donna clenched Josh's hand and pulled him out of the room. Into the maze of rooms and stairs, like an Escher painting. He didn't complain, didn't say a word, but grasped at Donna's hand just as tightly as she did his. He was a smart man. Donna felt he may know where they were going.

The janitor's closet near the basement conference room named "Eisenhower." The only one in the whole damned building unlocked. Donna's feet knew this fact well. She opened the door, letting go of his hand to motion him in.

"You keep dragging me into closets. Is this a new thing with you?"

Donna turned on the light and faced him. His eyes were a myriad of things, most of them quite recognizable. Confusion, sorrow, mischief, love, lust. She waited for a moment. The last seven years, as long as she had known him, she had seen that look of lust and then watched as he pushed it out of his eyes. Erasing the longing look took about ten seconds. He had to squash the looks of lust. It would have been wrong.

The lust wasn't moving. Her heart soared.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Donna?" Josh's voice was almost foreign. He may be in a closet in the basement of some DNC function. He may be whirling towards the top of a mountain or plunging towards the sewer. But he was not alone now. And Donna's eyes were whirling dervishes themselves, mystical and hypnotic. He wanted to make love to her. He wasn't about to hide.

She moved towards him, cupping his face into her hands.

"Our relationship is about to change, Josh."

Josh knew that David Ziegler had been a scientist and probably knew a lot about time and speed, weight and mass, physics and calculus, things Josh himself had been interested in after the shooting. He doubted that it was scientifically possible, even for David Ziegler, to calculate the speed it took to touch Donna's lips to his. Some things just happen that fast.

And then to push away the straps of her gown. Putting his own red marks over the scratches.

For her hands to find his belt, and then his fly. His hip didn't hurt anymore. His back felt fine. He was floating in the air, levitated by Donna. Everything was in her eyes, her mouth, the feel of her hips underneath his hands.

They made love against the door.


End file.
